The trophy presentation at the Estádio da Luz began forty minutes after the final whistle.
The stage was assembled at the centre of the pitch. The Bayern players received their runners-up medals first, walking up one by one, and the Barcelona fans, in a gesture that spoke well of them, applauded each Bayern player as they collected their medal. Neuer received the loudest applause of the beaten team. Even the opposition supporters knew what they had watched from him.
Then the stadium announcer introduced the winners.
Barcelona walked up as an entire unit, arms draped over shoulders, with the medals draped around their necks one by one. When Lorenzo reached the front of the queue, the UEFA dignitary handing out the hardware paused for an extra beat. He took a long look at the seventeen-year-old forward who had just anchored a historic treble, whispering a quiet word of congratulations that earned a respectful nod from the teenager.
In the center of the stage, the European Cup sat waiting on its plinth, massive and gleaming silver beneath the blinding glare of the floodlights.
Andrés Iniesta had worn the captain's armband through the exhausting final minutes of extra time, but as the squad gathered around the trophy, he unfastened the yellow band and gently pressed it into Xavi's palms. The two midfield icons had shared dressing rooms since their early days in La Masia, logging hundreds of fixtures for the club, and Iniesta clearly wanted his longtime partner to have this moment. Xavi shook his head at first, trying to push Iniesta toward the front, but the rest of the squad crowded in and shoved their veteran captain forward with wide grins.
Xavi took his place behind the silverware, though he refused to hoist it alone. He waved Lorenzo over, grabbed Leo Messi by the elbow, pulled Iniesta in close, and rested his hands firmly on the large silver handles.
"We do this together, boys," Xavi yelled over the ambient roar, flashing a grin. "Every single one of us lifts it at the exact same time."
Four pairs of hands locked around the handles, surrounded by twenty other teammates reaching over shoulders to touch the silver base. Together, they drove the trophy into the night sky. The Estádio da Luz detonated in response as synchronized confetti cannons boomed around the perimeter, raining thick clouds of blaugrana paper over the Lisbon pitch.
The wall of sound washed over the turf with pure, deafening force, easily eclipsing the noise from any of the evening's goals. It was the collective release of a football club that had been humiliated seven-nil on aggregate just twelve months prior, returning to the highest peak in European football with a seventeen-year-old prodigy leading the line.
FC Barcelona were the champions of Europe.
The continental treble was officially sealed.
The post-match pitch celebrations stretched on for well over an hour. Photographers jostled for angles, family members poured through the technical areas, and toddlers in miniature kits chased each other through drifts of red and blue paper. Carles Puyol, still looking sharp in his formal suit, hoisted the trophy high alongside the backline he had marshaled for a decade. Tata Martino was lifted onto the shoulders of his coaching staff, waving shyly toward the traveling fans. Near the dugout, Sofía and Antonio Pintus stood with folded arms, quietly watching their thoroughly conditioned athletes celebrate an impossible physical campaign.
Lorenzo eventually broke away from the midfield pack, jogging toward the front row of the lower tier where two familiar faces were leaning over the barrier.
Cecilia and Lucia were pressed right against the advertising boards. Security stewards kept a tight cordon, so he could only get within arm's reach, but that was plenty.
"You really went out there and won the whole thing, didn't you?" Cecilia laughed, wiping away a smear of runny mascara with the back of her sleeve while smiling through tears.
Lorenzo let out a breathless chuckle, tapping his winner's medal. "We all did. Every single person in this stadium had a part in it."
Lucia held his gaze with a soft, steady smile. They had agreed to park their personal questions until after Lisbon, but tonight was strictly about the trophy and the season. The real conversation would wait.
Lorenzo held Lucia's gaze for a lingering beat, gave Cecilia an affectionate nod, and turned around as Neymar loudly bellowed his name from the penalty box, waving him over for another team photo. He gave the two women a quick final wave and jogged back into the confetti to join his teammates.
Much later that night, the wild banquets and rooftop toasts finally faded into the calm silence of his private hotel room.
The familiar, cool chime echoed within his mind.
[Side Mission Complete: The Sixth Star.]
[Criteria met: UEFA Champions League secured. Continental treble achieved. Decisive match-winner recorded in the 114th minute alongside the primary assist for the second-half equalizer. Key individual performer confirmed across all statistical categories. Two distinct rewards have unlocked.]
[Opening Champions League Champion Chest...]
Lorenzo let his head sink back into the pillow, watching the pale blue notifications materialize across his vision.
[First Reward: 'Zinedine Zidane: La Roulette' Template.]
[Effect: The 360-degree spin turn that defined one of the greatest players in Champions League history. When surrounded or closed down, you can now roll the ball under one foot, spin your body a full turn, and emerge on the other side of a defender with the ball still under control.]
The sensation settled into his hips and core, a new sense of how his body could rotate under a ball. Zidane had spent a career making defenders look foolish with that single turn. Now it lived in Lorenzo's legs.
[Opening the second chest.]
[Second Reward: 'Ballon d'Or Aura': Passive Attribute.]
[Effect: Your presence on the pitch now exerts psychological pressure on opponents before you touch the ball. Defenders commit earlier. Goalkeepers set earlier. Markers double earlier. The reputation you have built this season becomes a weapon in itself.]
Lorenzo read the words twice.
So my reputation is now a weapon.
[Your reputation is now a weapon. There is a difference between that and a template. A template is a skill you use with your body. The aura is a thing others carry in their heads before you have touched the ball. From tonight, what people believe about you does half the work before you do the other half.]
Lorenzo stared up at the plaster ceiling, feeling the cool weight of the gold medal over his chest, turning the idea over in his thoughts.
Guardiola had watched him slice through Boateng and assumed it was an extraordinary genetic anomaly. Neuer had walked off the field believing that sometimes a single moment of genius simply beats world-class goalkeeping. Neither man had any idea that the physical engine powering Lorenzo through two hours of football was the result of a quiet breakthrough in a private villa just weeks earlier.
Yet Pep's parting wisdom stayed entirely true. An engine that refuses to break down is what ultimately captures titles when everyone else is running on empty. Whether that stamina came from biological grit or systematic refinement, the reality on the grass remained identical: protect the legs, trust the technique, and let the reputation pull defenders out of position.
"What does the schedule look like now?" Lorenzo asked quietly into the darkness.
[Rest comes first,] the system replied, pausing briefly. [Proper recovery for several days, not just an afternoon nap. After that, you have roughly five weeks before traveling to Brazil for the World Cup with the Spanish national team. That means adapting to a completely new shirt, different tactical expectations, and an entirely fresh level of pressure on the international stage.]
His eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and within minutes, he drifted off into deep sleep.
On Bayern's side, the squad quietly packed their bags for a long, painful flight home. Meanwhile, inside a peaceful hotel room, the newly crowned champion of Europe rested in stillness, his muscles already rebuilding, perfectly prepared for whatever battle arrived next.
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